


The Slippery One

by Weaselwoman



Series: Norse Crisis Flowchart [1]
Category: Marvel (Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abortion (contemplated), Angst, Childbirth, Make Loki Fix It, Mpreg, Norse Crisis Flowchart, Other, Underage - Freeform, Unpleasant discoveries, rape/noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-27 03:57:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/974036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weaselwoman/pseuds/Weaselwoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Between the time of the Odinsons’ childhood and the main events in the first Thor movie, Loki became silent and subdued; distrusted by warriors and cruel to servants. Also, Odin gained a horse. This is that story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Naïve

**Author's Note:**

> In this work, Frigga = Freya.  
> Also, I use past and present tenses rather interchangeably, like the Eddas did.  
> The Norse Crisis Flowchart comes from here: http://bettermyths.com/norse-crisis-flowchart/

There were no other children Loki’s age in Asgard.  The war with the Jotunns had been so long and intense, that in the end the men of Asgard had sworn a vow of chastity to build their ferocity; and the unmarried maids declared themselves shieldmaidens. However, no one begrudged the green-eyed baby, blue-fleshed from screaming, that Odin brought home and gave as spoils of war to Frigga (who promptly snuggled the babe into quietude). Thor, who was too young to know where babies usually come from, accepted with joy his new brother.

As they grow up:

_Thor leads the parade, his bratty little brother following, making it a parade._

Another war followed that one (a “misunderstanding” with the Vanir, whose own war with Asgard had preceded the Asgard/Jotunheim war), and, one thing following another, it was some years before the marriage of Volstagg and Gudrun finally opened the time of peace and plenty. New families blossomed in that spring, but their children would be too young to be friends with Thor and Loki: would grow up instead to be admirers of the golden prince and his boon companions.

Boon companions? Yes; for there _were_ other children Thor’s age; after leaving the nursery, he was most comfortable with the nobly born Fandral, the noble tomboy Sif, and their usual guard Volstagg, light-hearted and the youngest of the warriors.

_Loki is the pest, the brat, the trickster. The entourage._

Play becomes organized; Volstagg their guard is their first teacher, then fellow player, in the arena and in the fields. The pastures of Asgard host their horse-back lessons, their races; the nearby woods (gradually passing into wild forest) contain their hunts, their first expeditions.

_Loki is the attacker from ambush, in hide-and-go-seek; the taker of indirect stratagems in games of war (while Thor is straightforward)._

Growing up, Loki seeks first his brother’s respect, then recognition by Thor’s fellow warriors for Loki’s own fell abilities, not only his clever mind. Thor is reluctant to sit for the practical lessons in governing the realm, the endless council meetings, inventories, budgeting and accounting; so when Loki is old enough, he is deputized by his brother. Thor still sits for petition days, enjoying and learning Odin’s levying of justice.

Loki _is_ respected by Odin’s council—but they will soon break faith in a contract.

A boring summer council’s meeting, _infrastructure_ is a word Loki could do without, as well as the phrase “contractual obligation.” Staring off into space while Thor and his friends trade sword blows in the courtyard, in his hearing, where he rather would be.  Odin’s voice cuts through his reverie.

“The builder wants his horse.”

“But no other help,” Odin’s newest counselor, grim Igron points out.

“Loki?” asks Odin. “What do you think?”

“It’s just a horse,” says Loki absently. “It has no hands to work mortar, or otherwise help in building. Is there a problem with that?”

The contract is agreed to, amid grumblings about the high price demanded, and the building commences.

 -x-x-x-

The wall grows. Much to the Asgardians’ amazement (and the council’s dismay), the builder’s horse is indeed a useful helper: hauling tree trunks, pulling high-loaded stone-filled sledges, belaying the builder’s clever-made cranes that swing the stones high into position in the mortarless structure. Loki discovers that there is another word to which he should have been paying attention in the sleepy summer council meeting: _deadline_. If the wall is complete before Spring, Asgard owes the builder the Sun, the Moon, and Frigga his mother; if it is completed later (or never), Asgard owes nothing.

Winter comes early, and hard. From the existing ramparts, the Asgardians watch the builder continue, unhindered by the heavy snows. His thick-furred horse digs trenches free of ice with its broad hooves; its breath warms air to thaw the frozen ropes. The amount of progress is becoming alarming. Odin’s children and their companions are forbidden to interfere with the wall, to prevent _default_ (another damned overlooked word).

But there is another threat that a group of bored would-be warriors _could_ address. Trolls are a plentiful nuisance this winter: rock trolls, ice trolls; there is even a rumor of trolls that are not immobilized by the weak winter sunlight. Tyr has experience with trolls (and Volstagg pretends to), and so the group goes hunting. Loki comes along, having been assured that the council meeting he is missing will be inconsequential.

-x-x-x-

In that council meeting, there was general concern about the progress of the builder, and the need for paying him. As tempers flared, Igron turned to Odin.

“Wasn’t the horse your son’s idea?”

“Are you arguing a minor child should be responsible for this disastrous contract?”

“Someone has to be,” Igron said. “And you’ve got two sons.” _The heir and the spare_.

 -x-x-x-

The troll hunt finds traces and tracks, even a cave that had been used during daylight periods; but no trolls. Hunting for meat on the way back is more successful, though, and the companions returned in high spirits. Loki rushed toward the palace, planning to rid himself of the grime of the trail, when he was interrupted by frowning Igron, his father’s counselor.

“Wait.”

“Why?” Loki asked, irritated.

“I came to warn you. The Allfather blames you for the status of the wall. It grows apace; we will end up owing the builder the Sun, the Moon, and your lady mother. All because you allowed the builder the use of his horse.”

“ _I_ allowed?”

“As I said, Odin blames you. He wants your head instead of Frigga’s. And your balls for the Sun and Moon. Unless, of course, you stop the builder from completing the wall….”

“How?”

“Deny the builder his horse. You are the inventive one, Prince Loki. Surely you can find a way to distract the horse, or lame it. Meet me outside the wall, after dark.”

“Yes,” said Loki, and went to change his dusty clothes.

 -x-x-x-

“Psst.” From the shadows outside the wall, in the gap where the gate was growing. Igron stepped into the faint glow of the green magic light in Loki’s hand. And did not look disgusted, unlike most Asgardians at their first exposure to Loki’s magic. Interesting.

“You have a plan?”

Loki looked Igron up and down. “Father draws advisors from many places, even Vanaheim. How came you into his service? Where are you from, counselor Igron?”

“From no farther than you, Prince; possibly closer, given the vastness of this palace. But now we have a horse to disable.  Quickly, while the builder rests.”

 -x-x-x-

A giant stone bar, intended for the lintel of the gate, has been dragged into the yard of the builder’s camp. From a rough shed, snoring can be heard. In the yard, a great red-brown white-dusted horse, black in mane, tail, and leg feathers, dozes over its hay as the two creep up, go past it.

“It’s just a horse,” Loki reminds himself aloud.

“No, it’s a _stallion_ ,” says Igron.

“Easier to distract.” Loki grins to himself at the thought. And calls up a magic long forbidden to him, as if it had been waiting for this moment. With his back to the Counselor, Loki sheds his clothes, and _changes_. Standing in his place is a beautiful white mare, pelt sparkling like the sun on fresh fallen snow.

Hesitant on four legs, Loki walks up to the sleeping horse. It is massive, a not-very-tall but solidly built force of nature, opening one sleepy eye to regard the white mare. Not so easy to distract, then, but Loki has been a brat before, and knows how to misbehave. Loki squirts piss at him and dances away with a snort, tail a happy flag. Pauses to check the stallion’s reaction.

The stallion’s nostrils widen; he shakes loose from his stupor, uncoiling like an avalanche, and charges after Loki. Loki pivots, and runs.

 -x-x-x-

Touch-and-go was a game he had played since his earliest years, always with bigger, more powerful, less quick opponents. Speed was an asset, as was misdirection; but this opponent had to be encouraged to continue, to abandon its rest and its duty in heady pursuit. So Loki did not always run; sometimes paused with a coy glance, sometimes even walked toward the stallion. And then dashed away, seeming very, very catchable. _Catch me if you can…and I bet you can_. Another feint, a short run, a hesistant bite at the grass between trees; deeper and deeper into the forest, in the moonlight.

There was time to set a trap; Loki rolled in a snowbank, depositing some scent and disguising that white body in the white, white snow. Time to sneak away to a far viewpoint, pause to watch the lagging stallion catch Loki’s mare-scent; to whinny high and enticing as the horse seemed reluctant to pursue. Dawn and duty were calling; so Loki must call louder. Finally, a tired mare led an exhausted stallion at a walk, the horse’s head at Loki’s white shoulder, aiming for a distant meadow and a clear mountain stream. They drank, cropped the grass, drank some more; Loki-mare dodging as the stallion sidled near. A few more breaths and they were off again, racing farther still in a contest of speed and endurance.

The rules of touch-and-go were simple. You tagged and dashed away; teased and tagged and sped away again; repeating these events with ever more daring tags, ever more outrageous taunts, until finally your victims converged on you, and you were hard-put, collapsing with laughter, to prevent their pumelling from giving you any damage more permanent than scrapes or bruises. The rules were simple, and the result was inevitable.

So when the stallion started herding Loki into an area of tangled vines between the trees; when the horse pushed Loki onwards, too fast to set feet properly until Loki was tangled to a halt; when the stallion rose behind him, and reached forward to seize him by the neck with sharp teeth – all these were expected; but the next act was not.


	2. Cocky, then not so much.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are unexpected consequences.

After a few days, Loki was convinced that the builder’s deadline had passed. He changed back into his own form, only to discover that his clothing was miles away. He washed in the cold stream, and considered various possibilities; while the watchful stallion guarded him from the shore, blocking his return. Perhaps Loki should try a different shape? After some experimentation, Loki the great bear drives the horse away from Asgard. Then Loki-wolf returns at a fast trot, and pauses in the woods near the gate to wait for dark. As he had thought, no work is proceeding on the unfinished wall.

It was Loki in Asgardian form who went that night to the gate, checking to see if his clothes were there. They weren’t, so Loki crept carefully to the palace foundations, turned himself into a spider, and climbed the walls until he reached his own open window. His missing garments were in the room, folded on a chair. Loki changed forms again, crept into bed, and slept.

-x-x-x-

He joined Thor and his companions for breakfast.

“Your conjuring must have been exhausting work, Brother,” said Thor. “We have not seen you for days. Were you hidden up a tree while your phantom mare did her part?”

“Something like that,” Loki said, with a half-smile.

“And to think I doubted the uses of magic!  Still, you missed the rest of the saga of the builder and his horse.”

“Oh?”

“When the builder could not find his steed, and discovered he was foresworn, he became very nasty indeed. Would you believe that all this time he was a Jotunn frost giant? Father said that sometimes they are shape-shifters.”

“Really.” Perhaps Loki was not alone in this newly practiced talent.

“Thor is too modest to tell the rest,” Volstagg added. “He slew the troublesome Jotunn with Mjolnir. You are both the heroes of this tale.”

Loki looked around him. Fandral was elbowing Thor, with a side-mouthed comment about his modesty; but all were smiling.  Even, he saw, they were smiling at him. Uncertainly at first, Loki smiled back, then laughed.

Thor finished a roll with meat in it. “And still more good news! The trolls have left tracks again, travelling in the night. We go hunting! Will you join us?”

-x-x-x-

The troll hunt succeeded above everyone’s expectations. More than a dozen “daywalking” rock trolls were surrounded, challenged (in some cases) to single combat, and summarily dispatched. Loki found another of his formerly-spurned magical tactics to be quite useful: he would disappear from one spot, leaving a duplicate in his place, only to re-appear elsewhere, with daggers in both hands, ready to pounce. He could disappear entirely, or even cast multiple duplicates at one time. And the rock trolls had a vulnerable crease _just here_ where the neck met the back of the shoulders; he dispatched four himself while Mjolnir reduced most of the rest to rubble. Sif, Fandral and Volstagg surrounded each remaining troll as a trio: two to distract, while the one behind copied Loki’s technique.

“How many?” Sif demanded, as they left the new outcrop behind them. “I had two.”

“One,” said Fandral.

“One,” said Volstagg; “ and ’twas quite a reach at that.”

“Nine,” said Thor, with a laugh; “and you, Brother?”

“Four,” Loki admitted.

“Not fair,” said Sif. “You surrounded them all by yourself.” But she smiled, so no insult was meant.

And Thor ruffled his hair. “My little brother is not merely a useful mage, but a brave warrior as well!”

-x-x-x-

Weeks passed, early spring ripening until summer had become a possibility on the horizon. Loki, coming through a sunlit corridor on his way to break his morning’s fast with Thor and his companions, sensed the change in the air. Sensed something else as he opened the door: the dining chamber was closed, stuffy, fetid with the smell of rotting meat. Volstagg had half a meat roll disappearing into his mouth; Thor was biting into a haunch of _something_ ; the others chattered happily. All oblivious to that rotting smell. Were they bewitched?

“Brother!  We are planning the day’s campaign. Join us!”

Loki walked in, cautiously, breathing through his open mouth. “Are you all right? All of you?” Looking from face to face.

“Never better. And you? Loki, you look green.”

“Your meal is acceptable?”

“Yes…here, try a roll.”

Thor grabbed one from a platter, handed it to Loki. Who took a whiff and nearly fainted. They were all looking at him now, with puzzled expressions.

“Oh, I see. None of you can detect magic. Wait here. Don’t eat anything else! I’m getting Mother.” As he fled the room.

-x-x-x-

The two returned to the dining area. Frigga was an expert on subtle magic (as Odin was the expert on magic in wartime); surely she could reverse this spell.

“Do you smell it?” Loki asked.

“No,” said Frigga, and approached Thor. “Son, will you allow me?” He handed her the offending meat roll. She raised it to her face, took a deep sniff. “Ah.” Raised her head and addressed the frightened warriors. “Do not worry. This food should be safe for you.” Looked beside her. “Loki, come with me.”

-x-x-x-

“Did you smell the food? I can’t eat that!”

“Loki, there was no poison, no ensorcellment.” Frigga paused. “You were gone for some time. That fiery white mare you produced – how did you find her?  What magic did you work?”

Loki stared at Frigga’s feet, swallowed; then caught her eye. “I know you told me not to; but I could think of no alternative.”

“Loki…”

Quietly: “ _I_ was the mare. I changed my shape.”

“Oh, Loki...” He’d grown too tall to hug, but she clearly wanted to. “Here. Come sit with me.”

He sat next to her on the large bench.

“Take my hand,” said Frigga. “Let me see your eyes. Were you a maid, I’d suspect you were with child.”

“But.  I’m not…”

Frigga paused. “Do you remember Volstagg’s wedding? Thor was ring-bearer, and Sif would not be the flower girl.”

“No, she would never, would she?”

“And you so wanted to be part of the wedding. So you offered to carry the flowers.

“You made a lovely flower girl, and a very amusing one, too. Then you and Thor stayed awake for the whole wedding banquet, racing around the hall; I had to undress you both and put you both to bed.

“When I undressed you, well, I found your imitation of a girl-child to be far more exact than anyone like Thor could have managed. And I doubt you even knew then what a girl’s private parts looked like. My young prodigy. Odin and I talked that night, and the next day was when I made you promise never to shape-shift again. To protect you.”

“To protect me? Against what?”

“Against ill thoughts. Against ill use. As you grew older, against rape, or worse. Shape-changers are not trusted, Loki. This is women’s magic, of a particularly potent form that leads to fear in many men’s hearts. However innocent you were – and are – some would seek to harm you out of fear. Some might even think they were protecting Asgard’s honor by ruining you.”

“How is it I can do women’s magic?”

“Some very powerful sorcerers can. Odin used to, although most Aesir choose not to remember that.”

“The Jotunn builder changed his form as well. Am I a Jotunn, then?”

Frigga kisses him on the forehead; he is always a child in her mind.  “I think you are a precocious, clever boy who has to determine what kind of man he will be.”

-x-x-x-

“There are herbs I can give you for the nausea. But be careful; you may well be pregnant.”

“But I’m male! I can’t be.”

“You and the builder are both shape-changers; perhaps things will work out. I must think on this,” said Frigga.

“The act? Is it always like that?” 

“Oh, my child,” Frigga sighed; and Loki was hugged.

He rose, off to the kitchens to find some unfouled bread while Frigga gathered the necessary herbs. But Loki could not resist a parting shot at the door: “There’s nothing to worry about. It wasn’t the Jotunn, it was his horse.”

-x-x-x-

And more days passed.


	3. Cleverness appealed to; outgamed, honorable.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No good deed goes unpunished.

No sooner had Frigga replied “Enter” to the urgent knocking at her door when Loki rushed in, all in disarray. Normally he was a fastidious dresser; today he wore a threadbare hand-me-down tunic that was not quite loose enough. “Volstagg called me fat! Volstagg!”

“Sit down, Loki. Catch your breath.”

He sat on her bench in that wide-kneed pose both boys had learned from Odin; head down, fiercely unhappy. Swallowed, and spoke. “You gave me herbs to stop the nausea. Do you have others to end this?”

“Loki. Just as Odin is the All-Father, I am the All-Mother. Do you understand what that means?”

“That you won’t help.” And this pouting face was neither his most attractive, nor his most persuasive.

“That I can’t help you _that way_.”

“I saved your honor …

“You were the one who risked it, as I recall.”

“…at the expense of my own.”

-x-x-x-

“I have been giving this puzzle some thought,” says Frigga.  “The child you conceived as mare with stallion may be forever a horse.”

“You can’t ask me to give birth to a horse!” Loki would scream if the walls were thicker.

“Were you a mare again, you could. You’ll need to go away for a while anyway; suppose I were to send you on a quest?”

“A quest…” behind those green eyes, the boy was thinking again. _Finally_.

“I give you two tasks: retrieve for me the brave white mare who successfully defended our honor; and then your absence will be explained as your _personal_ search for the stallion. _That_ task need not be successful. Take as long as you need.”

“As long…how long do I need? A babe takes nine months.”

“A foal takes eleven. Best prepare for a long campaign.”

“All-mother, I accede to your wisdom.”

“And Loki – send me the mare soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to Robert Ferguson's _The Vikings_ , the Norse did not have access to contraception or abortions. Unwanted children were disposed of after their birth. Think about Odin throwing out Loki's son Jormundgand in that context.


	4. Desperate.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Loki is a horse.

Carr the herder found a bedraggled little white mare, mane all a-tangle hiding bright green eyes, in the high meadow pasture with the old stone walls, where the goats roamed. There was a note tied around its neck, stating that the mare now belonged to Frigga, compliments of Loki.

The mare was brought to the castle, washed, made presentable and delivered to Frigga, who sent it to the near pastures where Asgard’s horses and cattle grazed. The little mare was full of mischief, tormenting  the other horses, nipping at their flanks, stealing hay and grain and hairs from their tails; and it chased the docile cows until their milk was all a-foam.

So it was that Loki found himself exiled to the upper meadow again, with the clever goats and visiting ravens. It was a much more interesting place to stay, and farther from human eyes; if he wanted to lay on his back counting clouds, well, who was there to point out such non-horsey acts? Deer would come by in the early morning, browsing on nearby trees, and once he saw a cat (or lynx) that blinked at him from a sunny rock before disappearing into the forest. But a horse is a herd animal: he would have been lonely without the goats.

High summer became short autumn. People in Asgard were doing all sorts of interesting things that could be improved (or made much more humorous) with his help/interference, and here he stayed, bored. There was not much to do besides eating and drowsing; perhaps those lazy acts accounted for his heavier figure. Then the first snow fell…

It was white, like Loki’s mare shape. It was cold and comfortable. Loki rolled, contented, in the first fallen snow, turning over and over until he nearly reached the forest’s edge.

And six yellow eyes.

_The goats, gods damn it! Where were the goats, and why hadn’t they warned him?_ Clumsy, Loki jumped to his (four) feet, backing rapidly as three big wolves walked out of the forest.

Loki turned and dashed to where the stone wall is highest, then backed up against the wall, watching the wolves.  A large male and two pups, one nearly adult sized and the other smaller, the litter’s runt. Loki watched the old wolf urge his sons into attack positions.

It reminds him, Loki thinks with a snort, of his own family group: calculating Odin, eager Thor, reluctant (and slightly mangy) Loki. He can work with that.

-x-x-x-

Three wolves: an old male and two male cubs, one smaller, possibly mangy.

One mare, small and round and canny; white as snow with bright green eyes.

Odin-the-wolf would direct the attack, Loki-mare realized. He would want Loki-the-wolf—the clever, the expendable—to attack from behind; but Loki-mare was watching him. And Thor-the-wolf could not be held back; all eager “ _Let me try!_ ”

Which makes Thor the easiest to beat.

She kept her eyes on Odin-the-wolf and Loki-the-wolf: _Go ahead, attack_. Apparently forgetting Thor-the-wolf.

Loki-mare prances forward, sharp hooves ready to counterattack. Ignoring Thor-the-wolf creeping behind, then on the wall, then leaping off…

Trying to slash her hamstrings. Loki-mare leaps forward, kicks out with both hind feet, crushing Thor-the-wolf dead against the stone wall.

Of course Odin-the-wolf, in his sad fury at losing a son, must attack as well; but stared-down Loki-the-wolf backs up a few steps. Loki-mare snakes down her head, grabs Odin-the-wolf by the throat with bared teeth, shakes him, and throws; the wolf collapses in the snowy distance. Loki-the-wolf – _Self, you know better_ – is in full retreat; after a long, long pause, Odin-the-wolf rises, shakes himself awake and departs as well.

Loki, shaking and furious, has stomped on Thor-the-wolf, made sure he is dead; then pauses, overwhelmed with sudden sadness. He goes to the carcass, rolls in it for reassurance. A bloody, unhappy horse: mourning his brother, thinking him killed too quickly (of necessity); Loki is heart-sore.

-x-x-x-

In the morning, there is blood on the snow, and a wolf still dead.


	5. Despairing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for abortion thoughts and mental abuse triggers. It is safe, plot-wise, to skip this chapter. Loki is broken in this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one comes with the Warnings. Seriously, if contemplation of the abortion of a full-term, viable fetus squicks you out, go to the next chapter.

The next day, backed against the stone wall, Loki changed to sit in human form, weighing his options.

Across his lap, within his belly, was a great pile of fluid and thrashing legs.

He sits all day. The baby won’t change; the foal won’t change.

He has a sharp wolf jaw now available to him; Loki could cut the foal out.

But he still has honor; his honor is in Frigga’s hands…

But Frigga hadn’t saved him from the wolves; Loki had done that himself.

He wants to pace, to think; struggling up but weighted down, he can’t even stand up.

The young man sits back in despair. Not thinking for hours.

The foal kicks fitfully. Finally aware of the world without and within him, ravenously hungry, Loki changes back into a horse.

And the damn baby shifts – not in form, but in position; sliding to where it comfortably belongs.

Loki crops the grass hungrily, alone.


	6. Discovered.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things get better.

Carr the herdsman had been sent to fetch the goats at first frost, so he was hiding in woods (with the goats) as Loki fought the wolves; and then returned to Asgard.

Thor asks, why not rescue Frigga’s mare also?

“Sir, I watched her kill the wolves. I feared she would deal with me as she had done with them.”

So Thor goes up to the meadow to bring the mare in for the winter.

-x-x-x-

He talks to keep the mare’s attention focused on him, softly telling her _don’t worry, come home_ , holding a bridle and lead rope.

The mare watches him suspiciously, dancing on sharp hooves.

Thor says, idly, I miss my brother. Loki would know what to do. Small ears flick toward him. The eye he sees under the white mop of mane is bright green.

“Loki?”

The mare rears in fright, backing on two legs; then halts squarely, slowly walks forward and buries its head in Thor’s broad chest, sighing. Loki thinks, _I killed you. Yet you are here_.

Tears fall bright into the white mane. Thor says, “Brother? What enchantment is this?”

Loki’s predicament is now Loki’s and Frigga’s and Thor’s secret.

They return with the white mare walking freely at Thor’s side.


	7. Done.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the title character finally appears, and hijinks ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for messy childbirth and attempted rape.

Loki returns to the winter pastures by Asgard until the winter grows fierce after Yule; then into the barn on the hill beneath the throne room, dark and warmed by cattle breath. Still kept away from the other horses:  Frigga’s wild, bored, broad, mischief-making mare.  At least once Loki unlatches his stall door and goes wandering in the barn: overturning buckets, untying ropes, opening gates; leaving visible messes (and horse-dung surprises in dark corners). The cows do not trust him.

Neither do the stablemen, watching the cattle by night and playing at dice. But a horse that could fight a pack of giant wolves (the story has grown), that once head-butted Thor, and who goes now with Thor or Frigga without bridle or lead; such or horse—or, better, its foal—could be quite valuable. Ebbi the head stabler gambles with Carr, Nep, and Hauk for the chance to mate a stallion to the white mare, pledging to cooperate in the schemes of whoever wins the wager.

And Thor and Frigga keep Loki almost sane. Thor tells the white mare all the tales of Asgard in wintertime, of sorties and scandals and practical jokes (the last not as good as those in previous years, without the participation of their chief trickster). He tells of councils with the elders as well, describing things Thor does not understand, but Loki can unravel in his mind. Frigga’s visits are embarrassingly comforting, letting Loki know what to expect next, telling the boy he was that he is doing very well.

Loki’s uncomfortable body continues to change. His balls swell unexpectedly, rubbing against each other when he walks. The foal’s perpetual kicks at his kidneys are gone one morning; when he struggles up from his sleep, the baby has slipped even lower, a keel instead of a sphere. Loki can walk through narrower passages, and he intentionally rubs against pillars as he passes them, scratching his aching sides.

-x-x-x-

“Not long now,” Frigga told him.

But the foal’s new position pulls at his back; his muscles feel loose, his balls wet. The waiting has become most tiresome. Loki waits, short-tempered, for _now_ to arrive.

-x-x-x-

A cramp seized his gut and suddenly he was pissing copiously.

“Get Lord Thor,” Nep the stableman said. “The mare’s water has broken. He wished to be here for the birth.”

“Hmph,” said Ebbi. “It’s Frigga’s mare, not his. What’s his interest?”

“Lord Thor is mighty, but he has a good heart.”

Nep raked the sodden straw and put down fresh bedding, while Hauk ran for Thor. Another cramp wrenched Loki and he lay down suddenly. The foal was beginning to move.

-x-x-x-

The wrenching cramps continued—a seize, a slide, another seize—push and push, as if his body was turning itself inside-out.

Thor came running, knelt by the mare’s sweaty neck, whispered “I’m here, brother” into one furry ear. Loki’s body pulsed again.

“A foot! Two feet!” said Ebbi.

“The nose! Lord Thor?”

Thor rushed to the foal’s dark head, pulling the caul free of the black nostrils. He breathed gently into them, and the foal caught a desperate breath: a soft fluttering that Loki felt as well.

Two more feet presented in the next few pushes; then came a long period of agony, a double handful of cramps with no result. The foal’s fluttering breaths became gasps; Loki felt stupefied with pain.

“My Lord? The foal is stuck sideways. If we do nothing, both will die. We could open the mare, or, if you value her, we could pull the foal out in pieces.”

Loki was the clever one, the master of finding the third path through a dilemma; Loki was exhausted, though. Thor shouted, “Get Lady Frigga! Run!”

And suddenly she was there; cool fingers checking here, there, gently, gently. Interior parts Loki had not known existed had been sensitized, stretched, satisfied, stretched much more, and were now very, very sore. He was pretty sure his mother’s arm did not belong in there.

“Come out, slippery one.” Frigga gave a sudden push at the first-presented pair of legs, then sat back. She told Loki, “The little one has wide shoulders, child of my heart. Now push!” Two more heaves, and the shoulders were out; and the rest of the foal followed in a sliding mass.

“Up, little mother, if you can. You have a new colt.”

“Lady Frigga?” Ebbi said nervously. “The foal has too many legs.”

“Did you expect it to be ordinary?” she loudly asked them all, Thor and Loki included. Loki found his legs, and rose to his feet.

-x-x-x-

Frigga herself had inspected the bloody afterbirth, declaring it complete and no further risk to the mare. Thor had washed the nearly black colt, with its wide-set eyes, short neck and back, and many gangling legs. Frigga quietly told Loki, “Nursing will make you feel better; as a mother, I know.”

And although it felt very odd for his balls to be nuzzled by a velvety nose, when the colt found a nipple Loki relaxed. It was time for recovery, not plans.

-x-x-x-

Thor and Frigga visited daily, not always together; the colt put up with their attention for a while, then sidled behind his dam. Once he fled from Thor, and Loki came to the foal’s defence: a head shake, a snort of his own.

Thor raised one eyebrow. “Yours?”

The mare stamped once. _Mine_.

-x-x-x-

There was a banquet to which, in human form, Loki would have been invited; Thor and Frigga went. Loki stood dozing in the stall, the foal asleep in a tangle of legs behind him. Nep and Hauk came up to the stall.

“Frigga’s mare was feisty today.”

“About time.”

Suddenly two nooses converged on Loki’s neck; two ropes were snubbed against separate posts at the entrance to the stall. To fight was to have his breath cut off, Loki found; so he calmed down to await his chance. But then the men grabbed his colt. Loki fought the ropes until he passed out.

… waking woozily in an empty stall, the colt gone. One on each side of his neck, the men pulled him up, then walked him into the wide central corridor of the barn; and tied him again to two posts, left and right.

Then Nep brought in Volstagg’s stallion, a sway-backed, cow-hocked, straight-shouldered brute no quicker of wit than its master. The massive stallion sniffed delicately at Loki’s tail; Loki pulled forward wildly, to no avail: held by the ropes. _If going forward doesn’t work_ , he thought, _then perhaps_ …

The white mare backed toward the stallion, her tail clamped firmly between her hind legs; then reared on those legs, leaned forwards, and _changed_. Tossing aside the ropes, Loki fled from the stable: naked, slack-bellied, with his balls dripping milk.


	8. Epilogue: Remote.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Repairing the canon means putting the toys back in the box.

After a little while, Loki returned, clean, dressed and presentable.  Arrogantly, as befit a prince of Asgard, he faced Ebbi and his former tormenters. “I’ll need your finest milch-goat. And my son.” With the goat on a lead, and the colt freely walking at his heels, Loki left the barn into the dark.

-x-x-x-

In the following weeks, Loki felt no interest in human company, hiding the colt, the goat and himself whenever others – usually Thor – visited the high meadow. Thor left gifts: food, clothing, an herbal from Frigga which, if he had known about it earlier, would have considerably simplified Loki’s life. He took it for amends on Frigga’s part.

The colt thrived; the goat – one of Heidrun’s breed – thrived as well; and Loki, past the physical demands of motherhood, bided his time, reading and playing games with his colt.

-x-x-x-

Eventually, Loki allowed them to be found by Thor in the high meadow: the goat grazing near the stone wall where Loki sat reading, the foal wide-eyed and alert in the dewy grass. It gave a sudden snort and dashed away.

“Hail, Brother!” said Thor.

“Hello, brother. I have become a philosopher.”

“You may need your philosophy. Strange rumors have reached the court about some happenings in the stable.”

“Happenings,” he repeated flatly.

“You know the servants tell stories. They used to tell them to you.”

“And now they tell them _of_ me.” Loki sighed; Thor turned away to watch the horse instead.

“Loki, your colt has eight legs.”

Loki, offhand: “Four legs are faster than two; eight legs are faster than four.”

-x-x-x-

Thor asked, “What will you do with him?”

Loki shrugged. “I haven’t decided.  I don’t need a horse to get from place to place. “

“And Frigga has her chariot and cats; and my goats are my dinner as well as my transportation. I would not want to eat your colt.”

“Thank you for that,” said Loki.

“What about Father? He could use a war horse.”

“Father? _Odin_? The man who swore he would deliver my head instead of Frigga, and my balls instead of the sun and moon? _That_ father?”

“I heard no such story. When did you hear him say that?”

“Only indirectly, from Counselor Igron.”

“Igron was a rock troll in disguise. We found that out after you disappeared. He’s dead now.”

Loki blinked.

Thor continued, “If it’s any consolation, the four trolls you killed were his kin. You are already avenged upon him.”

“But Father Odin…”

“Misses you deeply, and awaits your return.”

“You didn’t tell him when you first knew where I was?”

“It wasn’t my secret to tell.”

Loki slowly smiled. “A great mistrust between father and son needs a great gift to make amends, does it not? Sleipnir!”

Across the field, the dark colt raised its fine head, delicate ears twitching forward, then galloped eight-legged, easily, back to his kin.

“Magnificent,” breathed Thor.

“Thank you, brother,” Loki acknowledged. “He should make a great gift indeed.”


End file.
